Felipe
by elseven
Summary: *Co-written by Mayalala* Never in all these years did he have a customer quite like this flannel wearing hoohaw that spent every afternoon on his computer eating his way through five bucks worth of corn chips and fresh salsa and spending six on two Coronas. It annoyed him like ground beef enchiladas annoyed him.


**Mayalala, this Mexican American baby is just as much yours as it is mine. So thank you so much.**

**Thank you to Captain Crunk for the wonderful suggestions!**

* * *

Nick stared at the computer screen as though it had just killed his first born.

_Crap crap crap. This is all crap._ _Why can't I figure this out? I should have paid more attention to Jess in that writing class. But how is anyone supposed to learn anything when she's showing all that upper boob? God I hope she hasn't worn that to work again. Maybe it's time for Jessica Knight to make an appearance in an electric blue dress that dips just low enough to...stop it! Focus on the plot man! _

He took the last chip from the basket and looked around for his waiter, a middle aged short man with a mustache like Burt Reynolds had in the 80's. He saw his guy from the kitchen and raised the basket signaling for more. Taking the final gulp from his beer, he set the empty bottle at the edge reminding the short guy to bring another.

The waiter, Mr. Felipe Ruiz from Michoacán, Mexico had owned his restaurant for nineteen solid years, raising his family while serving tamales and shrimp tostadas. He made most of his money selling piña coladas to American families with 2.2 kids. It had been years, sadly, since he had sold a chile relleno or a margarita on the rocks.

Felipe poked his head into the dishwashing station of the kitchen. "_Oyes_, Fabian. I better see you and your family at Patty's party. Our girl is going to USC. We need to celebrate!"

"Of course _patron_. I remember when she started kindergarten. How could we miss it?"

"_Que bien._ I better go back out there before _La Tortuga _throws the basket at the kitchen door."_  
_

Never in all these years did he have a customer quite like this flannel wearing hoohaw that spent every afternoon on his computer eating his way through five bucks worth of corn chips and fresh salsa and spending six on two Coronas. It annoyed him like ground beef enchiladas annoyed him.

Felipe walked his tray of chips, his grandmother's salsa and another bottle of beer over to the four-top where the frown faced man sat, clacking away at the keyboard. He set it down with a thud glaring at his customer who was much too busy to notice. "How's the writing today?" He asked in his thick accented English

Already with a mouthful, he managed a reply. "S'good."

"How about some lunch? We have a ham torta special," he asked. _Actually, how about leaving?_ Six days. Six days_ in a row_ he had tried to get this man to buy a meal.

On the third day, he had tried persuading him to sit at the smaller table by a window. The grump had declined, opting for the same table in the back corner like he was working on a top secret project. He remembered his niece Lila's elbow in his ribs for trying to stick her with him. No one at Casa Ruiz wanted the man with the laptop in their section, but it was entertaining to the staff to watch how _el_ _jefe_ suffered with their newest regular.

"Thanks. I'm good with the beer. You can keep the chips coming though," he mumbled without making eye contact. Chomping away chip by chip at the full basket, he wiped his greasy hands on his green flannel shirt before the horrific clacking continued. He didn't look up once from his computer screen.

"You seem _good_ with the third basket of free chips too." Felipe muttered under his breath knowing the guy wouldn't hear him over the noise of the busy restaurant now beginning to fill up for the lunch rush. He fixed a fake smile on his face. "If you need anything else, let me know, por favor."

"Yep, got it, just keep filling it up please."

Two hours later and the restaurant had cleared of its lunch rush. His eldest daughter Maritza vacuumed the carpets and his son-in-law counted money and receipts in the register. Felipe took some time to dust the hanging cages of fake macaws and toucans as well as the marble fountain at the door.

That's when he saw the empty table with the computer screen glaring words across it. He saddled up to the table, looking around to see if anyone was watching him before he began reading the screen.

_Pepperwood couldn't believe his luck. He'd captured his first zombie and was racing through the city on his way to Dr. Z's office hoping a live skin specimen could help stop the apocalypse now threatening the world. Out of nowhere his tire suddenly blew and he almost lost control of his van and precious cargo. What was he going to do now. How would he save the world if he had no way to get himself and Zombie across town._

"Are you kidding me? You're reading my computer!" Nick closed the lid and glared down at Felipe Ruiz.

"I'm sorry sir, I couldn't help myself. I like zombie stories."

"Well this one isn't done yet," the man muttered while his lips turned into an odd shaped bridge. "It's very important and _private_."

Felipe started to walk away but only took two steps before he turned back towards the man. He regretted the move instantly, thinking better of it. This was a place of business, he just had to make it back to his wife in the kitchen. She would calm him down. _But this was HIS place of business. _He spun back around and faced him_, _raising a finger up to his face. He began to say something but decided against it _again,_ walking back to the kitchen with a giant huff.

"Hey, I'm out of chips would ya bring some more."

Felipe didn't care anymore. He'd had enough of the two beer a day guy. Now he was gonna let loose. It was his restaurant. His name on it. His pride and joy and family's livelihood. There was no way after twenty-five years in this country that some vagabond with dirty clothes and bad manners was going to try to put _him_ in his place.

"_Mira nomas este… viene y se jamba y no compra ni un taco siquiera. Y yo soy el grosero. Ya estoy hasta la madre con-"_ Felipe was now cursing and gesticulating wildly, speaking to no one in particular, not even to the man.

"Hey pal! Not my _madre_! I know that word. I took one and a half semesters of Spanish, and sometimes when the remote falls and switches to that evil twin soap opera on Telemundo…I'm too lazy to change the channel."

"Not your mother! I was talking about _you! You_ coming in here every day, eating enough free chips and salsa for twenty people and not ordering anything! You just sit there for hours working on that dumb story!"

"Oh, so now there's a limit on the _complimentary_ food? I'm a paying customer! What are you going to tell me next? How many blinks I'm allowed to- wait, dumb?! That story is a masterpiece! That's my zombie novel you're talking about!"

"It doesn't make any sense! Why would the world depend on a man who doesn't even check his tires?! And what kind of name is Pepperwood! It sounds like the name of a talking Disney animal." Felipe wasn't sure _he_ was making any sense right now.

"It's an excellent name! I'm from Chicago. Where Julius Pepperwood is a no nonsense _man's _name. Know what buddy? I'm going and I'm not leavin' a tip!"

"_Oh_ _no_ Chicago! Not my fifty cents! Now I can't use my time machine and go back to 1940 to buy a Coke!"

"Don't lecture me on tips old man! I'm a bartender!"

This guy had a job interacting with _people?_ "Oh yeah? Where do you work?"

"Why do you care?"

"So I can sit there, just eat peanuts all day, and talk about MY Walking Dead story!"

"Hey! This is nothing like the Walking Dead!"

"Mindy's Coffeehouse is one block away! They have WiFi! Why can't you just go there!"

"Blegh! With all the unwashed hipsters? No thank you!"

"Well you're halfway there!"

"Beer helps with my writer's block and you sell beer! I was writing at home but it's a war zone over there right now! I have three roommates, THREE- and my girlfriend, she goes and tries to prove a point about loyalty by doing a bunch of stupid stuff with Winston behind mine and Schmidt's backs. They had the landlord install a bathtub. So Schmidt decides that if they're going to impose a _way of life_ on him that he's going to _regulate_ the contents of the refrigerator and pantry. He threw out the _captain crunch_! I refused to take sides and now they all made up and joined forces against _me!"_

"Wow."

"Yeah...tough week, right?"

"No. I mean wow, that pathetic story was more interesting than the stuff you're writing. Girlfriend? Someone's dating you? There's a plot twist."

"Hey! Don't mock me man! I've been stuck on the same page for a month now!"

"Just give the damn zombie a heart!"

Both men's expressions showed their surprise at the sudden outburst.

"What?"

"Yes..." Felipe suddenly became very focused as the wheels in his head started turning. "Crash the van...have the zombie _help_ him out of the crushed car, but then try to _eat_ him because of his nature. Then Pepperwood, _que nombre_, realizes they can still be saved. Instead of only stopping the virus, he wants to save the zombies too. Bam. More story."

"That is..." The Chicago born bartender was nodding along in amazement, his eyes wide. The moment ended abruptly as he began shaking his head furiously. "...ridiculous! Zombies don't have feelings!"

Felipe started to explain that it was perfectly reasonable, after all, this guy _did not _know any more about zombies than he did, but he was cut off.

"Stop it! Stop thinking about my story! Get it out of your head! It's mine!"

_"Calmate!_ It was just an idea. Anything to get you out of here faster!"

"Oh don't worry, I'm out!" He grabbed his laptop, looking down at the ground as he stomped toward the exit. He pushed against one of the double doors several times but it would't budge. "Don't do this to me door. Not _now!"_

Felipe allowed himself a few seconds of amusement before he finally helped him. "The one on the left is unlocked."

"I know that!" With that the grouch that had invaded Casa Ruiz threw the door open and left.

* * *

Felipe watched a woman with long dark hair and a beautiful blue dress walk up to the front counter. "Table for two please?"

"Claro."

Her companion trailed in moments later. It was him. _La Tortuga. _If he was honest with himself, he'd missed the grumbling idiot who spent hours arguing with his computer screen.

_"Buenas tardes" _Felipe nodded toward the man.

"Afternoon. Jess, this is Felipe. He owns the restaurant. This is my girlfriend Jess."

Felipe was surprised he even knew his name.

"Mucho gusto Jess."

"It's nice to meet you too. This is a lovely place. _Beautifully_ decorated. I can see why Nick chose here to _hide out._"

"I told you, I wasn't hiding. I think better on Mexican beer. It's my secret weapon."

"Yeah, right."

"Thank you. I'll be sure to tell my wife. This is all her."

He led them through the dining hall to the premier spot. The same one he'd been so willing to let the mooch with the laptop have as long as he could get him out of his hair. The table at the window, with a perfect view of the small rose garden his wife Claudia had put so much work into it.

Felipe set the menus down in front of them and went to leave for the chips and water.

"Wait, Felipe. We'll skip straight to ordering if that's alright, no chips today." He smiled sheepishly. "We'll take two margaritas, and two of your famous chile verdes please."

"Of course."

A few hours later the couple remained in the same spot, laughing loudly and looking at each other like complete fools. He wondered if Chicago had any idea that he was already in so deep. At that moment he saw a bit of himself in the younger man and hoped they were same kind of idiot. Just smart enough where it counted, knowing a good thing when they had it.

They were engaged in what seemed to be a personal conversation as he approached the table.

"I love that dress. You look amazing."

"Thanks Miller."

"You don't wear that to school do ya? Between the hormonal pre-teens, bored history teachers, and the way it dips in just the right place-"

She hit him in the arm gently. "Nick stop it," she laughed until she noticed Felipe approaching and straightened up in her chair.

"Another round?"

The girl looked up and smiled at him with less focused but still captivating eyes. "I think three was plenty. I _don't_ think we can drive though."

"Noooope." Chicago laughed.

"I'll call you both a cab. It's safe around here. Your car should be fine."

"Trust me, no one is going to steal his car Felipe."

"Come on, Jess!"

"All I'm saying is that it's probably not worth it to your average criminal when they most likely need to call a tow truck to steal the car out of the parking lot in the first place."

Felipe was liking this girl more and more by the minute. "I'll call them now."'

"Thanks man." Nick looked up, hoping the nod he gave him would suffice as an apology for the pain in the ass he'd been before.

"_Por nada_."

The yellow cab pulled up and the girl climbed in. "Gracias Felipe. See you soon!"

"_Buenas noches_ Jess. Here's some flan, my wife's recipe." He gestured toward Nick. "For your troubles," he added with a wink.

"Heh. Aw, thank you."

Nick put his hand out to Felipe. "You have good ideas man."

"Well, come back soon and I'll help you save your novel."

He laughed in reply, "Alright then. See ya."

"_Es muy bonita._ Suerte."

Nick turned to where Felipe had been looking, through the window of the cab, at the woman speaking exuberantly to the driver.

"She is, isn't she? La mas bonita. And thanks."


End file.
